There is a piece of archival footage in Three Identical Strangers that director Tim Wardle plays for the audience in triplicate: the boys, the subjects of the film, on a talk show in what appears to be a megachurch arena. The host, grey haired, stands closer with his audience, as the sideshow attraction sit on the yellowy orange carpeted stage, wearing the same outfit: a vomit and sunburnt green pull over and khaki pants. Their legs are spread apart and they slouch, and were they on the R train, they could easily be accused of manspreading. Three fold. The host, holding a microphone that looks like a Freudian lollipop, points out that the three of them are sitting in the same position. A quarter of a second later, the boy on the far left crosses his legs, and the other two, like a wave, follow. And although it’s played like magical, hokey intuition between the three identical triplets, their unknowable shared energy on display for the whole world, seeing the footage played twice, and three times reveals a bit of hesitancy on the second and third brothers in terms of following the action. But it happens, and the crowd goes wild, three times. Unquestioned. Read the rest of this entry »
Once every season, RuPaul gathers her remaining gurls, brings them to the front of the “Werk Room”, gives them fake frames to hold over their faces like a monocle, and announces elegantly, “In the grand tradition of Paris is Burning, the library is now open.” The queens, on RuPaul’s Drag Race, proceed to read – make snarky insults at one another, kind of like a roast – the rest of the queens, and whomever makes the cleverest and wittiest jabs wins the mini-challenge. This is what is left of Paris is Burning. The embers that still glow are, shall we say, a bit appropriative. “Werk”, “Realness”, “Shade”, and the rest of them have all entered into a cultural lexicon that is no longer exclusive to the community from whom it was basically taken (some of the vernacular stems from AAEV), and though Jennie Livingston’s documentary still exists as a cultural touchstone, it’s only in the most “basic” of ways. Read the rest of this entry »
Cinema verite is a style of documentary filmmaking which is usually characterized by its naturalistic style. It is, as its translation suggests, “truthful cinema”. Primarily telling the truth about life, cinema verite is often used in documentary filmmaking. While there have certainly been revolutionary films made in this style, such as Gimme Shelter, Hoop Dreams, and Woodstock, never has the scope of the style, or in documentary filmmaking in general, been so huge as Life in a Day. Culling together 80,000 entries and 4,500 hours of footage, this community made documentary is a stunning look at life.
All of the footage, submitted by YouTube users, depicts life in one day, July 24th, 2010. It seems interesting, albeit a rather simplistic concept. Large and daunting, but again, a bit simplistic. But Editor Joe Walker has taken these images and gave them power. I am sure that individually, they would have been fine and they each would have had their own meaning and what not, but together, they are harmonious and powerful.
It is interesting that instead of portraying the vast differences in our various environments and ideologies and even thoughts that the editors and overall style of the film took the approach to show the homogony. While the singular events that shape our lives are all different, generally, we do the same things. We all wake up in the morning (or don’t) and we all have breakfast of some sort and we all have some sort of routine.
The steady flow of images, so seamlessly edited, is one of the best parts of the film. The film never ceases to hold the viewer’s attention. This is less due to the scattershot and chaotic style of editing that’s permeated filmmaking since MTV first aired, but merely because the images are so interesting. They all have their own individualistic meaning, as well as a collective one. Comparing and contrasting shots that are obviously staged for aesthetic reason against those that are truly spontaneous and off the cuff is fun and interesting. One is reminded of Jean-Luc Godard’s revolutionary jump cuts in his debut Breathless. Not because they’re simply jump cuts, but because each splice is about the passing time of meaning and nothingness, as each fragmentary moment passes by.
As daunting as the task probably was, just putting the film together is nothing. Putting it together and actually creating memorable moments is something else. The intimacy one is able to perceive from many moments throughout the film is astounding. Throughout the film, not only does the audience get a slice of life from someone, but a real taste of their life. Touching moments filled with emotion. While these may seem maybe a little routine and mundane, they take on a new meaning in the film.
Life in a Day is an impressive feat for a documentary. The scope and scale is monumental. The film is packed with emotion and grabs your attention from the very start. Each story and each frame has meaning and its visually arresting style make it one of the best documentaries of the year.
Watch the full film here.
In an attempt to be fully disclosed, I will say that I am somewhat a social media hound. I’m connected to a perhaps profound amount of social networking sites and media sites. I am, for the most part, aware of a great deal of what happens in my respective areas of interests. However, world news, I’m a little weak on. When I do go a searching for news stories and updates, I’m sure that you know exactly where I go: the internet. Google, Twitter, Tumblr, and even Facebook; social media and the internet have become the newsroom everyone goes to without leaving their chair. NYTimes.com, the Huffington Post, CNN.com, etc. They’ve all become so ingrained in the public’s eye for where to get news, we as a society barely pick up an actual newspaper. It’s also no secret that the newspaper industry and the publishing industry in general, have been in the midst of a downward spiral while blogs, internet news sites, and social media centers buzz incessantly with news for free.
If ever there were an important documentary to be made within a culture where we are so dependent on news and dependent on “connection”, it is Andrew Rossi’s enthralling documentary Page One: inside the New York Times. In my previous review for Wes Craven’s Scream 4, I wrote at length about the changing landscape of communication and how that affected character and plot development. The same thought process applies to this documentary, but in a realer, harsher, and perhaps in an even more unsettling way.
As the New York Times remains one of the few daily newspapers still standing, Andrew Rossi not only gives an unprecedented look into how the newspaper functions, but also how it functions with an ever rapidly changing culture. We see the development of its website, its move to charge readers for full access to that website, and the stringent criticism that move gets from readers and journalists alike. It’s a stunning portrait of how a struggling icon continues to work despite the high odds against them.
During the documentary, we see an array of important news stories go through the process of happening; being chosen for the front page, the development, writing, and editing of the story; and finally, the publication and aftermath of that story. Notably, Julien Assange, the founder of the website WikiLeaks, appears in the documentary. As the story develops, the tension and suspense as thick and riveting as any Hitchcock film, commentators and other journalists chime in to give their opinion on the matter in ethical terms.
All the while, the impending doom and looming sense of death hangs over the staff at the New York Times. The pendulum swings ever closer to the Times as other papers, like the Chicago Tribune, die in unceremonious ways. As one hundred jobs are cut before the audience’s eyes, the threat of true extinction is brought before the audience’s eyes as the history of the Times and its transition to the changing media outlets comes alive. It is undoubtedly jarring to see the death of such important media sectors and have one reporter and journalist after another discuss how it was all predictable, but it is important to understand the changing atmosphere for the news and think about how it will change In the future.
While the threat of newspapers doesn’t sound terribly compelling to the average viewer, one will be very surprised at how compelling a topic it is. Yes, everyone gets their news from the internet or from TV, but because newspapers have had such a place within society, isn’t the thought of that all disappearing a bit sad? Andrew Rossi manages to make the topic not only seem more relevant than it already is, but to make it exciting, intriguing, and watchable. It is, perhaps, an area of knowledge that may seem irrelevant to my “main demographic”, but its stress and importance is made with just the right amount of suspense by the director.
Seamless editing and interesting interviews abound. Use of archival footage is abundant. Reflections on top stories are profoundly engrossing. WikiLeaks, the fall of the Tribune, the release of the iPad, the growing ubiquity of Twitter, and other subjects that take center stage. It is a film so relevant and important, that it is best to see it now instead of later, lest it fall prey to being “dated”. It is not, however, exactly a linear narrative. But that doesn’t matter. Like the news itself, it is sporadic and whatever captures its eye is what it focuses on. Yet, it is done in a clean, immaculate fashion. The fact that the WikiLeaks fiasco happened in April 2010 shows how skillfully this film was edited, put together, and released in such a short time. The film is devoid of the clumsiness that sometimes encumbers docs that are a reflection of the time they’re made in. It’s a clean documentary in a pretty dirty world.
The unsurpassed amount of footage and interviews the film has, and the incredibly introspective look at the New York Times offices, is kind of mind boggling. It’s a deep investigation of how the times and the Times are changing and how the people who run it adjust and adapt to that change. Media columnist David Carr, media reporter Brian Stelter, executive editor Bill Keller, and others give fascinating interviews, as well are filmed doing what they do best: capturing a story.
Page One: Inside the New York Times is unlike any other documentary I’ve ever seen. A true representation of the world we live in, Andrew Rossi has made what would seem an easy dismissible topic into something truly engaging and engrossing. It’s a documentary that’s exciting and suspenseful. Anyone who cares about the news, how we attain news, technology, or the ongoing battle between print and tech needs to see this film. As the world continues to change, so does the way we access news, and this documentary captures that portrait astoundingly. It is like the best news story you’ll ever want to hear: something you won’t want to end.
Louis Malles’ sensitive masterpiece is a nicely straightforward film, devoid of the usual murky metaphors that usually inhabit Criterion films. Taking place during World War II and in a private school for Catholic boys, Malles retraces his childhood making the film semiautobiographical. A sense camaraderie between two boys begins, but Julien Quentin discovers that his friend, Jean Bonnet, is a Jew in hiding at the school. Julien keeps the secret, and a beautiful sense of intimacy and friendship builds. The relationship between the boys is actually quite natural and realistic. Not too pushy or filled with cornball, but filled with the same kind of naturalism and realism that would occur in any other friendship. But the film is deeply emotional and filled with nuance, and while the subject matter, and its ending, are riveting and dark, the film itself basks in delight and observance of friendship and loyalty. Beautifully made and wonderfully acted, Au Revoir Les Enfants is a gorgeous piece of art and closure for the director.
Lindsay Anderson’s artistic piece of revolutionary cinema is a dreamlike, murky film. But its message is wildly clear. Malcolm McDowell portrays Mick Travis, who becomes the leader of a small group of anarchists at a boarding school in England. But the film is much less straightforward than that and, like any great art film, refuses to let the viewer stay on track. The film lingers and patiently examines the various atrocities that are committed both by the school staff and the Whips, the prefects or superior senior students who run the school like prison. The film seems not only to be deeply anarchic about overbearing governmental systems, but social class systems as well. The Whips aren’t really superior for any reason other than by seeming self-appointment. With incredibly socialistic tendencies and dialogue that reeks of revolution, Anderson’s If…. Is a one of a kind masterpiece that builds up to an incredible and disturbing climax.
Underground comic artist Robert Crumb is a repellent figure in my mind. That’s not to say I don’t understand his motivations; on the contrary, his use of satire and subversive humor is convincing, conniving, and well-drawn. But his general disdain for people and is obsession with sex is disconcerting. In Terry Zwigoff’s discomfortingly intimate documentary Crumb, the director manages to make the best documentary about the most repellent figure. Here is an unflinching piece of biography, that shows its subject in an honest, powerful light. We even get to meet Crumb’s family, people who are so clearly in need of help that it’s saddening watching Crumb talk down to his nearly catatonic brothers. (His sisters would not be interviewed for the doc.) It’s like the photography of Chuck Close: it catches every disgusting, interesting, true thing about the subject. So, I give kudos to Zwigoff for that. But it’s not a fun documentary; it isn’t pleasant, or nice, or entertaining. A lot of what Crumb says may anger the viewer, but then again, one man’s trash is another’s treasure. What is nice, however, is the side interviews with fellow cartoonists and criitcs that shed light on Crumb’s work, analyzing specific comics and offering insight into their meaning and their context. I advise you rent this before you buy it.
Stanley Kubrick’s impressive and raw drama starring Kirk Douglas is an intense examination of the war machine and its horrible consequences. When a battalion of soldiers in France during World War I are sent on a suicide mission and fail at completing it, three are picked to be tried for cowardice. Aside from the beginning actions, the film plays much like an extremely dramatic, moving courtroom drama. We see the various people at the top who are so deeply corrupted that they are willing to lie and execute three innocent soldiers. Kirk Douglas is fiery and perfect as their general. Paths of Glory is one of the most moving, terrifying, raw anti-war films ever made.
I had Netflix this summer, which basically meant my time was spent either doing homework or watching movies. Over the course of the vacation, I watched 74 films. I have written about 30 reviews. Hope you all enjoy.
P.S. The posters won’t appear, but it’s not like that really matters.
What a great film! It’s as seductive in its wit, satire, and drama as Mrs. Robinson. An incredible portrait of growing up after high school. One of the most unique coming of age tales I’ve seen in recent years. The film was very well written and avoided melodrama, which was great. Dustin Hoffman, Anne Bancroft, and Katherine Ross were all fantastic. Hoffman plays mild mannered good boy excellently, and Bancroft, who was only 6 years his senior, is one hell of a temptress. Very funny, and perhaps has jumped into my favorite films list.
This film, after Bullets Over Broadway, was my first Woody Allen film. I’d been worried because I had very high expectations. And I rented it so I could weep about how single I am. Thankfully, neither occurred. It was a brisk, intelligent, and funny film. Allen was hysterical and Keaton was top notch. But my favorite scene was when Allen is standing in line at the movies and complains about the pseudo-intellectual talking behind him. The relation to German philosophy and the breaking of the fourth wall was perfect, and I think that Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind shares its non-linear, memory lane format. I loved it.
Let me tell you I am a huge fan of the Master of Suspense, Alfred Hitchcock, my favorite film of his being either Psycho or The Birds. The Lady Vanishes is, in several ways, a departure from his normal grimness and morbidity. Light as air and as ironic and witty as Howard Hawks’ Bringing Up Baby (my favorite film), rarely does darkness taint this film. As it should be. Its frothy ambiance and amusing characters fill out any trepidation one might have when boarding a train. The claustrophobic setting is no doubt reminiscent of Agatha Christie fare, but it’s funny and more light hearted. Its as if everyone is in on the joke. This is thanks both to the impeccable directing as well as the superb screenplay. The two leads are marvelous! A superb caper, and significantly better than his oft acclaimed The 39 Steps.
Something Wild this way comes! Sporting a look reminiscent of Louise Brooks in her scintillating role in GW Pabst’s Pandora’s Box, Melanie Griffiths shines as the pathological liar trapped by her own subtle insecurities, Audrey/Lulu. She takes mild mannered Charlie, played by Jeff Daniels, on a whirl wind of a ride allowing himself the freedom from routine and obsessive compulsion, something he’s accustomed to but rebels against subconsciously by doing subtle things like not pay lunch bills. Ray Liotta steps into the picture in his first role as Audrey’s violent ex-husband. I would say that this film, heartwarming, weird, thrilling, and romantic, is like the screwball comedies of the ’30s and ’40s. It’s like The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, and Bringing Up Baby on crack and in the 1980’s. I was wary about it for a third of the film, finding it kind of weird and finding Daniels just annoying and underdeveloped. But Demme, who won an Oscar for directing in 1991 for The Silence of the Lambs, subtly allows Daniels character to create a back story for himself, allowing the viewer to see how “nice guy”-ish he really was, and allow him to develop further into a nuanced character. Melanie Griffiths was awesome. It’s a Wild and fun and romantic ride.
Based on the James Stewart movie The Shop Around the Corner (which was, in turn, based on a stage play), Nora Ephron’s charming You’ve Got Mail seems very quaint in an age where every kid has a smart phone and an iPod and complain when a YouTube video takes too long to load. This, children of this generation, is what life was like for internet users in 1998. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, who seem to just exude chemistry ever since their film Sleepless in Seattle, play people who like each other. Or at least, they like their online, anonymous personalities and slight facades. In real life, Hanks is the big bad chain store crushing Ryan’s cute little book shop, and a very Pride and Prejudice relationship begins. The banter is funny, as Ephron’s script always are (written with her sister, Delia), and it’s a perfectly suitable romantic comedy. It’s queer watching people use dial up, though. But the story itself doesn’t seem very dated. But it doesn’t feel as cutesy romantic as it could be. Instead, it just comes off as a little bland at times and fluctuates between true romance and the dull over trodden gimmick of the two leads who hate each other but really love each other secretly. But, it is, for the most part, enjoyable fluff.
The minute the film starts, you have a sense that it’s going to be some political or social commentary or allegory about obsession with media. It’s prophetic message may seem snooty and pretentious at times, but it ends up being overrun by its graphic, haunting imagery. The visual effects work better than the dialogue itself in serving as a prophetic warning. Some notable lines are in there, like “the television screen is the retina of the mind’s eye” and such, but literally having a beta-max shoved into your chest is scarier than anything you can imagine. The storyline involves James Woods, the president of a sleazy TV channel, stumbling upon a frequency to a channel that’s even more sadistic and sexual, called “Videodrome”. Torture on screen, that’s what the people want! And considering the surge in torture porn flicks, it’s not hard to believe at all now. The film is well acted, but it’s the make up and horrifying visuals that make this film as indelible as it is.
I love a dysfunctional family as much as the next guy, considering I have one myself, but The Life Aquatic just didn’t cut it for me. The characters were shallow, the story was deeply uninteresting, and the humor was full of itself and twee. It was so quirky and annoying, I wanted to punch the screen. I remember enjoying the Royal Tennenbaums because it was darker, more skewed on its views on humanity, and its emotional complexity was more ambiguous. Its dark humor wasn’t as blatant and self serving as well. Luckily, I don’t own this movie. However, as always, Wes Anderson’s color palette was nice.
I’ve basically learned since Memento not to doubt the logic and skill and brilliance of Christopher Nolan. Even with his blockbuster films that are as mainstream as you can get, like The Dark Knight,there’s a level of darkness and emotional complexity and integrity to the work itself that is so rare to find these days. And so, why not make an allegorical film about…auteurism. Jean-Luc Godard said, “Cinema is the most beautiful fraud in the world.” And by that, Nolan gives us a fairly straight forward, emotionally gorgeous, and visually stunning tale of two rival magicians trying to one up each other with who gets the better trick, and the most prestige. (Though, the word is meant to symbolize the fraud itself and its presentation to the audience.) Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman do an awesome job playing really petty magicians, Scarlett Johannsen is gorgeous, and, per typical of a Nolan film, the end will rape your mind. Great, under rated film.
If there were ever a shocking, a sprawling, and an intense mystery thriller for a neo-noir generation, it would the this film, the Swedish adaptation of the first novel in the Millenium triliogy by Stieg Larsson. Instead of being marked by nonstop action and excitement, the plot draws you in slowly and steadily, and grasps you until yuour last breath, never letting go. Michael Myqvist plays journalist and investigator Mikael Blomkvist of the Millenium periodical. He’s consulted by a powerful man about the disappearance of his niece. He is joined by genius punk-goth hacker Lisbeth Salander, played with pathos and power by Noomi Rapace, and they work together as an odd couple team. As they go through the case, more and more dark details are revealed. It’s a winning psychological thriller that keeps you on the edge without being a complete assualt on the senses. There are graphic scenes of rape, but they are not gratuitous. The original translation fo the Swedish title is Men Who Hate Women, and the film delves into the chauvnism and the crimes committed against women, without being blatant or misogynistic. It’s Rapace who makes the film, sporting this dark and slightly disturbed look, and that look is as dark and mysterious as her personality. An incredible and visceral film, but it runs a bit too long at over 150 minutes. I am eagerly anticipating the remake by David Fincher and starring Daniel Criag and Rooney Mara (the Social Network).
What could be more charming that riding on a gondola in Venice and kissing under the Bridge of Sighs, falling in love for all of eternity? Very little, in fact. A Little Romance is at a disadvantage in my own personal views from becoming an annoyingRomeo and Juliet rehash. Two photogenic young stars, one played by Diane Lane and the other by Thelonious Bernard, embark on a romantic adventure against the will of Lane’s mother. But, young love is far more optimistic and less melodramatic than Shakespeare plays it, and its end result is more delightful and amusing and romantic than you could imagine. What won me over? The charming, if volatile Bernard, who plays a dashing and handsome young French boy who loves the cinema and quotes Casablanca upon meeting Lane’s Lauren. On their way to falling for one another, they are joined by Lawrence Olivier, who is in splendid form as a pickpocket. It is charming and their determination without cynicism, as well as without the obnoxious cutsiness of Nicholas Sparks, make this a beautiful film, with breathtaking scenery and some wonderful performances. It’s dated in a way, for those weened on trash like The Notebook, but it will remain a picturesque illustration of young romance at its cinematic finest.
Manhattan seems to be a companion piece to Allen’s Annie Hall form 1977. It elaborates on the ideas of pseudo-intellectualism, but there’s still that sweet sentimentality intact. The scene where Keaton and Allen are standing in line at the movies listening to the guy talk about neo-realism and whatnot seems to be the thesis for Manhattan. How the broad talk of philosophy can in the end ruin a friendship and how one must get down to the bare bones, simplification of tenderness. This is shown when Allen continues to date and yet intellectually demean his 17 year old girlfriend, played by the grand daughter of Ernest Hemingway. We see she’s a perfectly capable of understanding these concepts, but she just doesn’t care for them. She wants emotional stimulation as opposed to constant intellectual stimulation. And it works. However, Allen’s inner intellectual is drawn to his best friennd’s mistress, Keaton again, who is wonderful, and he must decide between true beauty and emotion versus simple, almost emotionless intellect. But, really, its sharp evaluation of New York City sophisticates plays second fiddle to its gorgeous photography. Gordon Willis captures the stark contrast of black and white beautifully, and the Gershwin filled score is absolutely immaculate. It’s a beautiful, endearing film about love and the city.
I think Christopher Nolan is a god sent to us by the film lords. And, while Following is certainly not his strongest films, it is an impressive debut nonetheless. A thick and hard boiled neo-noir about guys who burgal for the thrill of it. The black and white photography is fitting, but it never pulls you in aesthetically. It feels like there should be more contrast in the lighting to show the contrast in characteristics between the male leads. It plays out much like Double Indemnity. But unfamiliarity with Nolan’s back and forth story style may find this jagged and rough edged film disconcerting and maybe irksome. All said and done, it makes for a good neo-noir and an interesting piece of filmmaking. But, if you’re looking for a better Nolan noir, look for Memento.
It’s funny that I should watch this film while slightly sleep deprived. But being up late at night is nothing compared to Al Pacino’s insomnia-ridden cop in Nolan’s excruciatingly tense mystery. Based on a Norwegian film of the same name directed by Erik Skjoldbjærg, Insomnia is an interestingly existential film, though it doesn’t try to be. Pacino’s LA cop, on the hunt for a murderer of a 17 year old girl in Alaska, accidentaly shoots his partner and tries to cover it up. Already under suspcian for something back home, he is unable to sleep and has flashes of visions. Not to ention the fact that where he’s staying in Alaska; well, the sun never goes down. Hillary Swank plays the sharp, star struck local cop who is on the same case. And Robin Williams, in a brilliant departure from his broad comedy, plays the murderer. He’s not funny. His character, who plays mind games with Pacino’s cop, could have easily been a bad rip off of Hannibal Lecter in the Silence of the Lambs, but Williams brings his own twisted nerve to the character, keeping it fresh. Visually, the film is captivating, utilizing symbolic motifs and great cinematography. But, it’s a Nolan film. A film of pure tension and suspense, Insomnia will keep you up at night.
As I was reading the essays that came with the Kiss Me Deadly Blu-ray, it kept saying that it was a sci-fi noir. I would have to say that’s an overestimation of the film. It is more hard boiled film noir in the classic vein, if significantly more violent and a bit more exciting, than it is science fiction. Yes, it took place during the Cold War, and yes there’s some stuff about nuclear war fare that isn’t exactly spelled out explcityly. But, if there is anything to draw you to this hot as hell classic, it is how ahead of its time it was. Robert Aldrich’s superb and intense film plays up the violence and the misogyny to unbelievable levels, making it both shocking and entertaining. And Ralph Meeker’s off kilter, nasty private dick is one of the most memorable performances I’ve seen in a while . And the box, of course; the great Whatsit, which inspired Quentin Tarantino for his film Pulp Fiction. That said, it is classic noir, so if you’re not really into repugnant anti-heroes and hot dames, then oh well.
Non linear storyline. An homage to everything you can think of. Punchy, kick ass dialogue. Samuel L. Jackson quoting the Bible. Uma Thurman and John Travolta dancing. This hell fire of a film written and directed by Quentin Tarantino is a pop culture masterpiece, tones and perfected by its rousing and interesting characters and most of all by the killer screenplay written by Tarantino and Roger Avary, for which they won an Academy Award for. It’s hard to tell what the film is actually abuot, but that may be just the point. A throwback to the hard boiled and trashy novels of the 1950’s, the film relishes in its meandering story lines and interconnected plots, reveling in exactly that subgenre. Samuel L. Jackson is absolutely superb as a philosophical hitman, and he delivers his lines with perfect beat, enunciation, and emotion. He’s as moving as he is funny, and Tarantino’s social analysis throughout the film is spoken through him, and it’s dead on. Travolta is also fantastic as the partner, and he plays a character which could be really annoying and ignorant. Instead, he’s cool, funny, and clever. And Uma Thurman plays the wife of WIng RHames. I have to say, Uma Thurman seems to be at her very best when she’s dealing with Tarantino. She was kickass inKill Bill, and in this, she’s cool, witty, and her pathological decision making is nothing but intense. The film may be over two and a half hours long, but it’s fast paced. And not by action, but by compelling story and incredible dialogue. Truly a masterpiece of the modern era of film, and a love letter to all things trashy and pulpy.
In many ways, I feel that David Cronenberg’s disturbing and smart Videodrome works as an unofficial companion piece with Michael Powell’s unsettling masterpiece Peeping Tom. Both are essentially about the cruelties and horrors of voyeurism and what it does to people. Both are sexually charged with deep and horrific psychoses of their main characters. Bot are propfetic and comment on social desires, taboos, etc. But, of the two, I prefer Peeping Tom, as it is more elegantly handled, but just as penetrating. Psychotic Mark Lewis, played by Carl Boehm (who looks like a more handsome and younger version of Peter Lorre in Fritz Lang’sM), kills women. He films them to the point of death. And the he watches it over again. A very, very obvious exploration into voyeurism, the first person point of view would inspire the same kind of madness in Black Swan (which was also inspired thematically by one of Powell and Emeric Pressberger’s masterpieces, The Red Shoes). Moira Shearer plays a young woman who begins to befriend the young man, who works as a photographer, as as the film goes on, his personal traumas are revealed in the most suspenseful fashion. A great piece of filmmaking, with its subtext as potent today as it was in 1960.
Godfrey is a “forgotten man”, basically a bum, who is picked up by a family of aristocrats for a scavenger hunt game. He is then hired by the family, in particular, Cornelia Bullock, to be the family’s butler. The test for him, a reserved, wise man (as men like that tend to be in films of this style), is to last in the house without walking out. The Bullock family is bonkers. Steeped in extravagance, the family is always in trouble or doing something stupid, like getting drunk and partying and whatnot. I was rather disappointed with this film. As a big fan of the screwball comedy, and an admirer of William Powell in The Thin Man, the film seemed devoid of actual wit. Yeah, people banter back and forth, but none of it is actually very funny. The comedy itself shouldn’t feel so dated, instead it just feel half hearted and kind of stupid. And I don’t appreciate there being not one admirable character. The entire family seems repugnant and/or idiotic. And William Powell’s forgotten man is supposed to come off more as kindly and wise than oh so holier than thou. Oh, boo hoo, a movie with a message about the worth of money. Like we haven’t seen that before. Kudos to Pwell though, Without him, the film would be a dull and unfunny and preachy.
Sophia Coppola’s Oscar-winning tale of lonely people in Tokyo is perfection. Absolute perfection. The slow, beautifully languid pace fit the meandering soul of the film itself, and the performances were spectacular and so nuanced. The locale is beautifully claustrophobic. The sense of emptiness and loneliness slowly being filled was incredibly palpable and honestly tugged at my heart strings. Murray’s pitch perfect fictitious self dazzlingly personifies loneliness and Johansson’s throaty and equally superb part embodies the lost soul she’s trying to find. It hit all the right notes in humor, drama, and romance, and I found it particularly pleasing that the two maintained a close, intimate relationship, but did not sleep together. To me, the unification of those souls, finding and helping one another back on their way – that translated perfectly to the screen.
The Piano (1993) | Directed by Jane Campion
Stanley Kubrick once compared film to music, that “it should be a progression of moods and feelings.” That couldn’t be a more beautiful and accurate description of Jane Campion’s highly exotic, erotic period tale of a mute woman (Holly Hunter) and her daughter (a young Anna Paquin) sent to New Zealand for an arranged marriage. She brings her treasured piano, but her new husband (Sam Neil) cannot carry the piano back to their house. Eventually, the natives who help them bring their belongings introduce her to Baine (Harvey Keitel), a swarthy man. Hunter plays her character lovingly and, as a mute, without words. Other actresses could fall prey to scene chewery and believability, but Hunter is tender and nuanced. From years of repression, she finally is able to indulge herself and become free by having an illicit affair with Keitel. She maintains her love for the piano, which is an extension of who she is an appendage to her soul. Campion’s film is beautiful, with exotic photography, and Hunter and Paquin both deserved their Academy Award winds. Paquin isn’t cute or precocious, however. She is nothing but real, acting much older than she is. The Piano is an example of a film that needs little words to show its beauty, but reveals its gorgeousness through its pure mood and tone.
Clearly, as evidenced by his screenplays for Adaptation. and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and even Synecdoche, New York,Charlie Kaufman enjoys being both self-referential, self-aware, and exploring the flaws, fallacies, and beauties of the human mind in all of its existential beauty. I would say Kaufman’s script for the amusingly dark Being John Malkovich, directed with style and flair by Spike Jonze, helped me understand what existentialism actually is: the philosophy of being. And in being, the exploration of existentialism is more humorous and dark than it is completely serious. John Cusack plays a down-on-his-luck puppeteer who finds a portal into the mind of the great actor John Malkovich, in a world where no one seems to actually know his filmography. (They keep saying he’s in some heist movie…) Meanwhile, he falls In love with an acerbic, stuck up Catherine Keener, who in turn falls in love with John Malkovich, but only when Cusack’s wife (an unrecognizable, incredible performance from Cameron Diaz) is inhabiting Malkovich’s body. And so, not only do we get a funny lesson in the philosophy of being and existing, but in are thrown the philosophies of sexuality, love, and fulfillment. Indeed, this is an interesting journey, and Malkovich is in full, overacting form. He’s supposed to be, of course. Cusack’s character, though, is too unlikable, and Keener is just repugnant. The kudos should really go to Diaz, for making a full transformation. The film has visual flair, giving perspective into…perspective. The film isn’t only an exploration of being and existing, but an exploration of what makes us tick.
This may be a complete travesty in the film world, but I could not stand this film. Having heard much about how realistic it was in comparison with the gangster epic by Francis Ford Coppola The Godfather, Scorsese’s brash, violent, and devious film takes out the romance of being in the mob and tries to make it as realistic as possible. Realistic though it may be, it is by no means, in my personal opinion, not any more entertaining. Ray Liotta(who was just as scary in Jonathan Demme’s Something Wild) makes his mark on cinematic history as Henry Hill, the real life mobster who got into the gang as a young teen. I suppose it may be interesting to watch the workings of organized crime from an outsider’s view working to get in, but its unremorseful violence and profane script dissolves all interest. The meandering and overlong storyline also takes a hit at one’s attention span, and and its inconsistent narration makes it seem a little sloppy. The visual style remains the same, and by that I mean uninteresting. The violence, as I said, is brutal, tough, and nasty. It’s not a fun film to watch. But kudos to Scorsese for a first class selection of music, a playlist that reflects the times and the characters. But…Joe Pesci…seriously. Punctuating your screenplay and having your one uneducated and dense and trigger happy character spout the f-word every other word doesn’t make him seem any more interesting and it doesn’t add any depth to the character. Somehow, though, he managed to nab an Oscar, which I think may have been a bit more deserved for My Cousin Vinny. De Niro feels barely there. But, I guess the reason why everyone lauds the film is because of its realism. Woo hoo. Based on the book Wiseguy by co-screenwriter Nicholas Pillegi, GoodFellas is a unique piece of celluloid for its realistic look at the mob, but its entertainment value is as scares as anyone In the witness protection program.
Much like his next film Modern Times, City Lightsshows Charlie Chaplin’s romantic side more than ever, and it shows how hesitant he was to jump into the era of talking pictures. Made four years after the “first” talkie, The Jazz Singer, Chaplin maintained that if the Little Tramp talked all of his magic would disappear. He had his point, for the incarnation of the Tramp in The Great Dictator isn’t as delightfully quaint. One of the problems I’ve had with silent comedies is that they feel like a bunch of shorter gags made for one and two reelers just strung together without a coherent storyline. Buster Keaton avoided this with his death defying, if less entertaining The General, but Chaplin fell prey to this in his funny, but long and slow The Gold Rush. City Lights escapes this problem by giving the Tramp a serious love interest in that of a beautiful blind flower girl. It’s fluid and funny, and that is what matters. He is adamant on helping her get money to pay for her rent as well as for her to undergo surgery so that she can see. Ah, but there is a catch. He had accidentally been masquerading as a millionaire, after befriending an alcoholic one who invited the Tramp into his home. And that means that should the flower girl see him, she would know him for the bum he really is. And he hasn’t a care in the world. The strongest thing this film has, besides great gags, is a touching storyline. It is his most romantic feature, next to Modern Times. It is filled with heart and doesn’t tug on your heartstrings, but pull gently more and more until the beautiful, slightly ambiguous ending. It’s delightful, hilarious, and heartwarming, and one of my favorite Chaplin films.
Bronson (2008) | Directed by Nocolas Winding Refn
Bronson is one of the most exhilarating movies I’ve had the pleasure of seeing in a while. I’m not normally a fan of ultra-violence, but director Nicolas Winding Refn is so theatrical, so flamboyant, and so delightful in his violent performance art, it doesn’t matter. And it’s indeed theatrical. And it is indeed exhilarating. The film grabs you by the crotch and doesn’t let you go for a moment. Tom Hardy, in a role that has me questioning why the hell he doesn’t have a crap load of big awards on his shelf, begins the film by introducing himself as the world’s most violent prisoner. And he makes his motivations explicit. “I’ve always wanted to be famous.” And so, Charles Bronson, formerly known as Michael Gordon Peterson, addresses an audience on a stage, as if performing some vaudevillian one man show. The cinematography, by Larry Smith, is as harsh as Bronson’s knuckles, and the violence is intense, but darkly humorous. Hardy humanizes the character in a completely bizarre and brilliant way. Yes, he is a madman, but his exuberance and delight and charisma is so undeniable, you find yourself rooting for him. At times, he doesn’t even seem evil. He seems like an Alex Fletcher 2.0, only with a hell of a lot more muscle. Various symbolism about repression and being confined and claustrophobia and splattered in red across the screen, but the visualization makes the experience truly memorable. But the winner of the formula? Ding, ding ding! Tom Hardy is brilliant and absolutely brutal as the lead, perfecting the accent and bouncing back skillfully between being horrific and being hysterical. The blend of classical music and British pop/techno makes it feel a lot more like Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange, but in reality, as much as they are about desensitization to violence and its effect on society, the films themselves are very different. Kubrick’s film is at once repulsive and cringe worthy, but that was the director’s intention. Refn, however, wants to, like Bronson, give you a show. And that he does.
Having been born in the 1990’s and most familiar with caper films like Steven Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Eleven, from a ‘90’s child point of view, Roy Hill’s masterpiece crime movie The Sting can best be described as an “old timey Ocean’s Eleven”. However, for the sake of screenwriter David S. Ward, it’s far cleverer than Soderbergh’s film. (Not to say his film isn’t good, it’s great.) A street grafter (Robort Redford) wants to avenge the death of a friend (Robert Earl Jones) by pulling the ultimate con on the gangster (Robert Shaw) who killed his friend. He gets the help from a professional con man and cheat (Paul Newman) and what follows is a particularly jolly and fun movie. George Roy Hill had previously worked with Newman and Redford on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a film that, much to the dismay of Cinephiles, I despise. I dislike it mainly for its strange pace. But, thank goodness for The Sting. Its pace is jaunty and fun, and it’s a film that almost lacks much of a dark side, except for the finale. Newman and Redford have perfect chemistry together, as we all know, and the master and apprentice repartee is brilliant. Robert Shaw is pleasantly menacing as the gangster, completing this excellent ensemble. The Sting is one of the more delightful films I have seen this summer, and while the stakes are high, it’s a big win for the viewer.
The Shrek series is best known for creating an empire at DreamWorks Animation that is comparable to that at Pixar Animation. What’s the difference between the two studios? DreamWorks’s films, in particular the Shrek series, are cheekier, more sarcastic, often more self-referential, and often crasser. And, everyone copies them, not Pixar. And so, DreamWorks pushes the sequel limit with the multiply-titled fourth Shrek film, alternately known as Shrek Forever After and Shrek: The Final Chapter. The fourth film is evidence that, after the second, the formula was running very, very dry. The self-aware fairy-tale series does an It’s a Wonderful Life-esque morality tale, when Shrek (the insufferable Mike Myers) wishes that he were just as fearful a single and unmarried ogre as he used to be. And he stupidly gets his wish when he makes a deal with Rumpelstiltskin (Walt Dohrn). And gone are his children, his family, his friends, blah blah blah. And he has a day until he can set things right et cetera. It’s the most boring plot you could ask for, one that has been tread over a billion times within the cinematic work. The animation is lazy, the jokes are boring, and the movie seems extremely half-hearted. Even its self-awareness is lacking. The characters are so incredibly stupid, and yet they try to wink at the camera (as they have for the entire series) with an “oh look how clever we are lampooning fairy tale”. Even the voice work is insufferable. Cameron Diaz seems barely there and Jon Hamm is completely useless as a member of some ogre-rebellion. You would have thought that after ten years, the animation would be mind-blowing, kind of like when you watch Toy Story and then you watch Toy Story 3. It’s a completely unnecessary sequel and I hope that this is where the fairy tale finally ends.
Catherine Breillat is a professor of Auteur Cinema. This is so incredibly obvious with her polarizing filmFat Girl, a film so uncomfortable and so infuriating that it is difficult to watch. However, this is not for the general and obvious reasons that many people talk about, such as its lengthy sex scene, its rape, the sexual violence, etc; it is hard to watch because the characters within her film are not so much characters but mouth pieces for her feminist theory fodder. Following is a short personal op-ed piece I wrote about the film:
But not exactly why. Yes, the sex scene is repulsive and excruciating, but it’s more the shockingly stereotypical and pseudo-feminism stuff that is spouting from the character’s mouths that make this irksome. The male character, Fernando, is a prime example of a character that self-contradicting in his ethics and what he carries out. And it doesn’t help that Breillat is propelling various ideas of how men use women and how that is either perfectly fine or disgusting, as her interviews are not entirely clear. She says, “Fernando is not an asshole.” And then goes on to say that he is being sincere in an instantaneous manner, and that sincerity disappears when he gets his desire. Doesn’t that mean he’s not actually sincere? Her understanding of the male persona, at one moment describing men as sick dogs who just want to sleep with women and then hailing them (seemingly) for their ability to have that power, is infuriating. Four or five times, throughout the lengthy bedding scene, Fernando changes his onions to suit whatever the girl wants. Yes, this tactic is slightly realistic, but the constant change of mind to express opposing ideas makes little sense and instead gives off the impression that the character is just a mouth piece for the director, who has made the two characters just part of a thesis for her feminist theory class. The portrayal of males and sexuality reaches two different extremes, and whether or not they are true, the explanation and justification for these actions are not true within the male world. I am very sympathetic with the female character, of course, as the male is being very manipulative. Breillat isn’t clear as to whether she’s condoning these actions or tactics, as her interviews and own quotes remain murky. It’s just very obnoxious to see this portrayal that wants to express very different ideas within one character, which makes the character themselves a work of self-contradiction.
This did not change much as the film went on. Fat Girl, otherwise known as A ma soeur! (For My Sister) , is somewhat a demonstration in shock cinema (which is a term that recalls titles more like The Rocky Horror Picture Showthan deliberately intellectual cinema along the lines of Jean-Luc Godard and Francois Truffaut) and somewhat a demonstration of deliberately and obsessively intellectual and theoretical subject matter. It only occasionally appears to be an actual movie, but too thin are the strands of plot and story that hold the auteur’s ideas together cohesively. The characterization of Elena (a gorgeous Roxane Mesquida) is derisive and sometimes bizarre, while her liver Fernando (Libero De Rienzo) is too often chauvinistic and, as aforementioned, self-contradictory. And the relationship between the two is like someone’s thesis for a gender studies class acted out by people, but a lousy and overtly sexual one. Trading ideas instead of feelings, the director speaks too blatantly through the characters instead of letting them find their own voices. This is also true of Elena’s relationship with her younger sister, Anais (Anais Reboux). It’s superficial and unbelievable at first, something you would hear in a sitcom, where the dialogue is so wooden and pseudo-analytical, that it drives the viewer up the wall. However, this is lessens as the film goes on, and the relationship manages to normalize itself. The real star of the film is sweet, emotional Anais, who manages to voice her (or the director’s) ideas and theories without succumbing to too much ludicrousness. She’s far more cynical and realistic about love and sex than her sister. Her wounded soul is apparent only when she lets us see it instead of making it forced. Her performance is surprisingly nuanced for someone so inexperienced and young. Given the material for the film, I would have found it hard to do. But her cries and whimpers, her laughs, and her ideas all seem more real than is deserving of the film.
Fat Girl is an interesting film, but its ideas, characterizations, and overall tone are too polarizing to be enjoyable or watchable. Breillat is an intellectual at heart who tries too hard to instill her ideas on frame and in dialogue than make a film where the characters find themselves instead of act as a go-between for her and the audience. If anything, watch the film out of curiosity and for Anais Reboix’s moving performance.
I don’t know of too many films that tackle very polarizing issues, like abortion or doctor assisted suicide. That’s not to say they don’t exist (the former subject has a few, like 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days,Citizen Ruth, and Vera Drake), just that they are fairly rare. Leave it to HBO to go full throttle with this subject, and leave it to them to go directly and film something about the source. HBO Films’ You Don’t Know Jack chronicles the career of Dr. Jack Kevorkian, also known as “Dr. Death”. Al Pacino plays the good doctor and the film goes all the way from the beginning of his ideas for doctor assisted suicide to his trial and conviction by the Supreme Court. While the film vividly and realistically presents the cases, victims, etc. for the audience, the problem with it is its one sidedness. It tries its best to show both sides of the issue (sort of), but I suppose it’s not their job to show both sides. They are telling Dr. Kevorkian’s story, not the issue itself. And it’s not a documentary. Though, insight would have been nice. Al Pacino’s performance was stellar, of course. He again transforms himself into someone whom is slightly sinister and yet benevolent at the same time. You Don’t Know Jack is an excellent docu-drama, thoroughly entertaining and brings some of the issue to light.
Patty Jenkin’s roaring film Monster (see what I did there?) is a demonstration in complete transformation from actress to character. Less than a portrayal, Charlize Theron embodies that of her character, convicted and executed murderer and prostitute Aileen Wuornos. Her performance will go down in the history of cinema as one of the finest things, one of the most heart wrenching, and one of the most terrifying. Hers will stand next to the great roles in cinema, such as Marion Cotillard in La Vie en Rose, Gloria Swanson in Sunset Blvd., and others. Her performance alone reminds me of why I love cinema. It moved me. Anyways, enough about Theron. Monster is the incredible film that manages to let its own character let the audience become sympathetic towards her, as opposed to the director forcing it down their throats. Christina Ricci is excellent as Aileen’s lover, Selby. The raw emotion is what pushes the film, and it will tear your heart out without remorse.
Having been shocked and pleased with Henri-Georges Cluzot’s great film Diabolique, I was expecting the same sort of tension from his previous masterpiece The Wages of Fear. I was sorely disappointed. The film is about four men in some South American country who are hired by an American oil company to transport two trucks of nitroglycerin. From there, the road is rough and the terrain is dangerous. And the movie is boring. Regardless of what it says about American industrialism and its horrors, the biggest problem with the film is that it is extremely dull. It takes about an hour for that brief synopsis to actually begin, for the driving to start ot for driving to even be mentioned. Before, it’s just a few characters wallowing in how much they want to get out of their god-forsaken country. And even as they do drive, the tension is limited except for a few scenes. The characters are all rather repugnant. Especially Jo (Charles Vanel), who spends the entire film either whining or yelling at people for no reason. I was highly disappointed in this film. What one is wagering is their attention span.
Peter Bogdonavich’s Paper Moon is a strangely sweet and funny film about dark times and dark people. It’s not exactly a dramedy and it’s not exactly a dark comedy either. It’s funniness is fairly frank and honest, but its setting is the darkness. A con man and his friend’s daughter (Ryan O’Neal and his daughter Tatum) go about during the Great Depression getting rich by selling Bibles to people. It’s a very sweet, very strange ale, and Tatum O’Neal absolutely shines as Addie Pray. She’s precocious, but not annoying or unbelievable. She’s also devilishly clever. Tatum is the youngest person to ever win an Academy Award, for she was ten when she won Best Actress for the role. I remember feeling a little uneasy about whether she deserved it or not, but she most certainly did. Paper Moon makes a most entertaining yarn of a film. The black and white photography is in particular gorgeous. It’s a classic that could fall way to be overly sweet, but it has just enough sour in there to please everyone.
Beauty and the Beast (La Belle et la Bête) (1946) | Directed by Jean Cocteau
I managed to miss the Disney Renaissance growing up, which means I’ve never actually seen their musical animated adaptation of Beauty and the Beast in its entirety. I suppose it was, in a way, a good thing, as it left me fairly unbiased when viewing the enchanting Jean Cocteau adaptation of the film (Le Belle et la Bete) form 1946. It is, in the most honest and glorious fashion, a fairy-tale film. Everything about the film exudes mystique and enchantment. The gorgeous set design, the magnificent special effect, and, above all, the story and romance are all perfect. Its magic is palpable with some of the most impressive special effects (that would be increased in impressiveness for Cocteau’s Orpheus). Jean Marrais portrays the Beast (as well as a handsome suitor) while Josette Day is radiant and beautiful as Belle. Based on the tale written by Leprince de Beaumont, this adaptation transcends the fairy-tale medium itself (even though it is so distinctly that), by telling us a love story and having us fall for the beast over the handsome man he was. The emotion that Marrais portrays under the thick makeup is tender and vulnerable, something shown underneath a hard and beastly exterior. Greta Garbo, upon seeing the film and its ending, said, “Give me back my Beast!” And that is how we, the audience, feel. I have only felt this strongly and similarly about a beastly character once before, in Peter Jackon’s 2005 adaptation of King Kong. We fell in love with something that looked monstrous but was in fact more kind and gentle than any man. Josette Day is equally as kind and generous in the film, and she pulls off a part that is as vulnerable as the Beast’s. This enthralling and ethereal film is one of the most beautiful ever, and transcends the art of the fairy-tale by making cinematic magic by putting a beautiful love story on film. Indeed, it was Beauty killed the Beast, as well as the audience.
The Others is a peculiarly traditional film, as well as interestingly symbolic. Beneath the dust that covers the gigantic Gothic household where Nicole Kidman and her two children live, and behind the shadows that shroud the house in mystery, are symbolic references that allude to the Bible as well as to more sociological comments on religion, superstitious and its effect on people. Kidman plays the religious, hardened, and heartbroken Grace, whose deeply religious views she pounds into her children puritanically. Her children, Nicholas (James Bentley) and Anne (Alakina Mann), live each day in the darkness, as they are sensitive to light. The one light they can handle is the barely-there glimmer of hope that their father will return home from the war safely. In traipse three servants, one of whom is a mute, and one, Mrs. Mills (Fionnula Flanagan),seems to be the ring leader. Their connections to the house are deep, the roots of which are hidden. But as the daughter begins to see intruders her mother can’t, strange things begin to happen. This is a deceptively traditional film. Its production and camera tricks are so traditional, you will, at times, be thinking you are watching a ghost story from the 1960s. That’s not a bad thing; as a matter of fact this film may work somewhat as an homage to those ghost films. And just like those films, every frame contains something about religion and the afterlife. These messages might be a tad more sophisticated and complex, but in the end the most important part of this ghost story by Alejandro Amenabar: it scares you. Yes, as conventional as the scares seem to be, they are indeed frightening. The deceptive turns and wicked twists pay off well, and the ending is satisfying. The Others is an accomplished film in the traditional style of ghost story telling. It does the best thing a ghost story can do: keep you up at night.
The abortion debate is so extreme and controversial that it is hard to ever have a conversation with anyone about it without it turning into a debate. It’s harder still to document the issue itself without letting your own biases get in the way of being evenhanded. Somehow, though, Tony Kaye, the skilled music video director and director ofAmerican History X, managed to do it. And not only did he show both sides in a documentary, he actually made the documentary well. A compelling look at all aspects and facets of this extraordinarily painful debate, Kaye presents the issue through interviews, archival footage, etc. It took Kaye 17 years to make the film, which leaves room for 17 years of opinion and change. The interviews come from both the completely rational as well as the completely fanatical. Filmed in black and white, which may be aesthetically important to show that the issue itself is not merely black and white, the documentary is often hard to watch. If it had been in color, it would literally be unwatchable at some points, as some abortions and the aftermath of such procedures are shown and documented. The murders of several doctors who had performed abortions occurred during the production of filming. Protests are shown. Even Norma McCorvey, the history making Jane Roe of the Roe v. Wade case, is interviewed. Fanatics on both sides are interviewed. And philosophers, writers, academics, and politicians give their input. (The black and white cinematography is rather compelling even as a piece of cinema verite at times.) And while even handed and ambiguous it may be, the best thing one can say about this emotional and riveting documentary is that it will move you, make your blood boil, and make you think. That is the best any documentary can do. Make you think.
Hell in (Jimmy Choo) Heels: A Look at Anna Wintour in The September Issue and Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada
The Devil Wears Prada is one of my all-time favorite films. Perhaps because it treats the fashion industry with more respect than it is usually given in mainstream pop culture. Ormaybe because Anne Hathaway is charming as a naïve newcomer at a fashion magazine. Or perhaps because Emily Blunt is so scathingly funny as the assistant to Miranda Priestly, cold and kind of mean. Wait, I know exactly why. Because Meryl Streep is amazing in it.
In the adaptation of Lauren Weisberger’s semi-autobiographical novel, Meryl Streep plays the editor-in-chief of a world renowned fashion magazine called Runway. Priestly is one of the most ruthless and deadly bosses in the business, so much so that people will walk out of elevators so she can have one of her own. But what makes Streep’s performance so mesmerizing and awesome is the fact that she doesn’t make it a caricature or joke. She plays it seriously, and even gives Priestly a heart and real emotion, something Weisberger failed to show in her novel.
In the documentary The September Issue, we follow Anna Wintour, the editor in chief of Vogue, whom Weisberger based her devil on. But Wintour throughout the documentary proves she’s not nearly as evil as is thought. Icy, cold, and bitchy; yes, she is. But not heartless. She’s professional about everything, even though she does remain the commander in the office.The
doc, which chronicles the making of Vogue’s 2007 September issue, their biggest ever, also provides enlightenment on how Vogue is run. We meet Grace Coddington, a former model and now creative director at Vogue. She has true fire and passion. As she tries to save her babies throughout the issue, particularly her 1920’s tribute section, which looks absolutely gorgeous.
While Anna and Miranda may have paralleling histories and behaviors, the two are very different. The actual character of Miranda is a hyped up, evil joke used as revenge on Wintour, but Streep handles the role with grace and passion, making Miranda Priestly a much more interesting and complex character. In one scene, Andy (Anne Hathaway) walks in on Miranda, wiping her tears, and we see Miranda vulnerable, watching her as she asks Andy to try to cover up Miranda’s recent divorce plans with her husband. We are shown that she isn’t a career obsessed minion of evil; she’s a human, and moreover she’s a woman who loves her children and wants to protect them from the world of hurt she knows. But what’s misinterpreted as being work crazy is merely being acceptably devoted and passionate about your job. It’s the same with Anna Wintour, who, wearing those icy shades, has been called the Ice Queen. She’s passionate about work, but she’s professional. She’s doing her job; she’s not doing it to be spiteful.
The Devil Wears Prada is both a fun film to watch on a Sunday night, but also something that can be legitimately seen as a film as opposed to a movie or chick flick. The September Issue is an engrossing documentary that shows how beautiful fashion can be and how passionate people can be about their work. And both show audiences that fashion isn’t just the clothes you buy, but that it’s actual art.
The Devil Wears Prada: A-
The September Issue: B+
The Devil Wears Prada Trailer/Excerpt:
The September Issue trailer: